The Wing Girl: A laugh out loud romantic comedy. Nic Tatano
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your personal life. Ever been married?”
“No,” he said.
She turned her body slightly so that the judge couldn’t see her lick her ruby-red lips. “Ah, single and available.”
The witness gulped. “Well, yeah.”
“My client is single as well.” She cocked her head toward her client. “Find her attractive?”
The man looked at his own lawyer, a portly older man with a gray beard, then back to Serena. “I suppose. That’s not why I hired her, though.”
“I see. She had excellent references from her previous employers, did she not?”
“She did.”
Serena moved back to her long wooden desk and picked up a piece of paper. “Exhibit five, your honor.” The judge nodded as she held up the paper. “This is a six-month review you gave my client one month before you fired her. Would you mind reading it for the jury?”
I thought she was going to hand the paper to the man, but instead she moved very close to the witness stand and held it just below her chest in such a way that it covered everything below.
The man’s eyes darted between the paper and her boobs, both inches away. “Danielle is a … very resourceful employee who is very … thorough. She has great … attention to detail and is an asset to the company. She … uh … has great skills.”
Serena then whipped the paper away from her body and fired a quick question. Now the only thing in his line of sight was her cleavage. “So, they’re impressive.”
The man’s eyes didn’t move. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. “Uh … ”
Serena then pointed to her face. “My eyes are up here, Mr Harrolds.”
Snickers filled the room. The judge bit her lip to keep from laughing.
The defense attorney stood up. “Your honor … ” he said in a pleading tone.
The judge turned toward Serena. “Ms. Dash, let’s stick to the questions.”
“Sorry, your honor.”
“Like hell you’re sorry,” said the judge. “But continue.”
She backed up toward the desk, dropped the paper along the way and crouched down to pick it up, giving the witness an exclusive shot down her blouse. “So, my client’s skills … ” The witness leaned forward to get a closer look. She looked up to face him from the floor. “They’re impressive.”
He was riveted to her chest. “Oh yeah.”
She stood up, turned and marched toward the witness. “I’m glad you find certain … skills … impressive.” More snickers in the courtroom. She walked back to her desk and turned to the defendant’s attorney. “Your witness.”
The defense attorney stood up, took one look at his sweaty client and said, “Your honor, a brief recess?”
***
Thirty minutes later I was having lunch with Serena in a bright, airy restaurant with lots of ferns, ceiling fans and flat-screen televisions broadcasting baseball. She got an early reprieve from court when the defense attorney realized his client had sent his case headlong into the shitter and wanted to settle.
“So,” I asked, taking great care to handle my fork correctly as my salad arrived. “How much was your commission on that one?”
“Can’t tell you since it’s an out-of-court settlement. But you knew that.”
“Yeah, I did. Just thought you might slip up and I could do the math.”
“You know better than to try reporter’s tricks on me. Let’s just say my client can buy a new car for every member of her family. And I’m picking up the check for lunch.”
“Why, thank you.” I gently speared some spinach leaves and slowly brought them to my mouth. I noticed she was watching closely. “I’m doing it right. Right?”
She reached over and patted my free hand. “Absolutely. I’m so proud of you, Wing Girl. Learning to feed yourself! It’s like a kitten drinking from the bowl for the first time.”
I smiled as I chewed, resisting the temptation for a snappy comeback with my mouth open. I swallowed, gently lifted my glass and took a sip of water. “So, mind telling me why I needed to see your flagrant manipulation of the justice system?”
“So that you’ll understand the flagrant manipulation of the dating system.”
“Wow, men like to look at boobs. Let me call the station so we can break into programming.”
“You don’t get it.”
“I get it.”
“No, you don’t. Men are already looking at you, but you have no idea what to do with that power.”
“Excuse me? Power?”
“Sweetie, you have the upper hand. And you can use it to weed out the clunkers. I used that power to win a trial back there. You can use it to thin the herd of prospective boyfriends.”
“So I want a man who doesn’t look at my boobs? Why don’t I just go to a gay bar? I thought the whole idea of this makeover thing and learning to drink tea with my pinkie sticking out was to get men to pay attention to me.”
“That’s just part of it. Phase two of your training begins tonight.”
“Phase two? What the hell is that?”
“Catch and release.”
***
Councilman Jagger’s massive office in the old municipal building looked like a sports museum. He’s an admitted fanatic of baseball and football, so the place is crammed with autographed baseballs, footballs, helmets, gloves and jerseys. Where most politicians have photos of themselves with presidents and heads of state, Jagger has nothing but pictures of himself with athletes. He’s pretty much out of wall space, as the numerous eight-by-tens have been haphazardly hung in a fashion only a man (or myself) would deem acceptable. The massive antique oak desk has a glass top, under which are so many signed trading cards you can’t see the wood.
All the guy needs is a pool table and a flat screen and he’s got the perfect man cave.
What makes Jagger different is that I’ve never had to investigate the guy. I may not agree with a lot of his politics, but he’s either squeaky clean or the best I’ve ever seen at covering his tracks. To be honest, I don’t really “like” any politicians; despite what you hear about all journalists being flaming liberals, I’m middle of the road because I’ve realized they’re all a bunch of egomaniacs who are full of shit, regardless of their party affiliation. But at least this guy has always been pleasant and treated me like a professional on the rare occasions we’ve crossed paths, usually at charity fundraisers. As opposed to perp walks, during which I’ve run into a few other elected officials.
“Belinda, thanks for coming by,” he said, as he got out from behind his desk to greet me. He’s too much of a gentleman and knows I’m a serious reporter, so while he noticed the obvious change in my appearance he said nothing.
He extended his hand and I shook it. “Nice to see you, Councilman. It’s been a while.”
“I guess that’s good considering the stories you do,” he said with a slight smile. He gestured toward the old maple chair in front of his desk and I took a seat as he moved back behind his desk. Jagger was in his late fifties, tall and fit, an ex-Marine who still sported a salt and pepper crew cut. His lean, rugged face and strong chin, along with piercing steel-blue eyes made me think he could re-enlist and head right back into battle without missing a beat. His tough gravel voice went nicely with the look, and has always conveyed the straight shooter attitude he’s had as a politician.
“I