Parnell Hall - The Anonymous Client

Steve Winslow rode uptown in the back of a cab and thumbed through the casting calls in Backstage. They were, as hed expected, much the same as in last weeks issue. Most of the open auditions were for chorus work. Steve Winslow was neither a singer nor a dancer. Not that he hadnt done musical comedy in his time-in summer stock you did all the shows, and when a musical came along you faked it. Steve could carry a tune, and laboriously learn a dance step by rote if pressed, but no one was ever going to hire him to do it. Not with the wealth of legitimate singers and dancers New York City had to offer.

Steve sighed and flipped the page.

The cab pulled up in front of an office building on West 48th Street. Steve paid the fare, over-tipping as usual. After years of driving a cab himself, Steve had a soft spot for cab drivers.

Steve folded the paper under his arm, went into the lobby, took the elevator up to the seventh floor, got off and walked down the hall. It was a little after nine, and a mailman with a pushcart was making his morning rounds, sliding letters through the mail slots in the office doors. He had just stopped in front of a door and taken two letters from the cart when Steve walked up.

Ill take those, Steve said.

The mailman gave him a funny look. Steve wasnt surprised. It was October, and Steve was seasonably dressed in brown corduroy pants, a blue T-shirt, and a tweed sports jacket. That, coupled with his shoulder-length dark hair, made him look somewhat younger than his thirty-five years.

The mailman glanced at the office door. On the frosted glass were the words, STEVE WINSLOW, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. The mailman looked back at Steve, hesitated a moment, then handed him the letters, and pushed his cart off down the hall.

Steve smiled. There was no way the mailman thought he was the lawyer. Probably some office boy hired by the attorney. Steve turned the knob, pushed open the office door.

Tracy Garvin was seated at her desk reading a book. Without looking at the cover, Steve knew it would be a murder mystery. It was all she ever read.

Tracy was about twenty-four, with long blonde hair that always seemed to be falling in her face, and large, round-framed glasses that had a habit of getting tangled in the hair. She was dressed in blue jeans and a sweater, her usual office attire. Steve didnt mind. How could he, the way he dressed? And it wasnt as if he had any clients he wanted to impress.

Tracy looked up from her book when Steve came in.

Good morning, Tracy, Steve said. He held up the two letters. Mails here. He tossed the letters on her desk, smiled, and went into his inner office.

Steve sat down at his desk, tipped his chair back, and unfolded the Backstage.

Mr. Winslow.

Steve looked up.

Tracy Garvin was standing in the doorway. The first thing he noticed was that her glasses were folded and in her hand. Steve frowned. In the little hed seen of Tracy Garvin, one thing he had observed was that when she took off and folded her glasses it usually meant that she was upset about something.

Yes, Steve said.

Tracy Garvin took a breath. She seemed to be controlling herself with an effort.

Mr. Winslow, I havent seen you in over two weeks.

I know, Steve said.

Then you come walking in here, toss the mail on my desk, and say, Good morning, as if nothing had happened.

Steve looked at her. What happened?

Nothing, Tracy said.

Steve frowned. This was not one of his days. But then, he reflected, not many of them were. So whats wrong?

Tracy took a breath, blew it out again. Mr. Winslow, I sit at that desk eight hours a day, five days a week.

I know. Thats what I hired you for.

Yes, but nothing happens. I open the mail and answer it. That takes a good fifteen minutes. And I answer the phone calls, a particularly demanding job, since most days there are none. I sit here all day long and I dont do anything.

I know, Steve said. I have no law practice. I have one client, Sheila Benton. Handling her affairs doesnt amount to much. Shes in Europe now, so it amounts to even less. Theres no work. I told you that when I hired you.

I know that, but..

But what?

I dont know.

Steve smiled. I do. You didnt believe me. You figured it was a law office, so something had to happen. Well, youre wrong. I have no clients, and I see no prospects of getting clients. But I still need someone to hold down the office. To hang out here and read books all day long. Some people would kill for the job.

Im not one of them.

So what are you trying to say?

Tracy took a breath. Im saying I cant take it. I need something to do. So well, Im giving two weeks notice. Ill stay on till you get a replacement.

I see, Steve said. So where you gonna go?

I thought Id try some of the larger law firms.

Steve nodded. Thats what I thought youd say. You may have some trouble there.

Oh?

Yeah. Youre not a paralegal, youre just a secretary. You have no legal training or education.

I know. But

But what?

I hate to ask, but I need a recommendation.

Im afraid my recommendation wont cut much ice with the larger law firms. But youre welcome to it. But Im afraid youre going to be disappointed.

You think I wont get a job?

No, I think you might. But if you do, I think youll be disappointed.

Why do you say that?

Well, what do you think youd do in one of those law firms?

I dont know. Assist the lawyer. Take notes. Look up things for him.

Steve frowned. Yeah. Thats the problem.

What is?

Its those books you read. Those murder mysteries. Murders, clients, chases. Real life isnt like that. It isnt even like L.A. Law. You might as well work for a business firm.

Tracy set her jaw, defensively. Oh yeah? she said. You know that for a fact?

No, Im just telling you what I think. And I think youd be bored silly.

Well, it couldnt be worse than here.

Yeah. It could. Here you have no expectations. You sit and read your books all day. There you start off with high hopes, and wind up a bored file clerk. Steve sighed. Look, Im not trying to argue with you, and I dont want to disillusion you, but I dont want to send you out of here with false hopes, either. Cause you dont really want work. What you want is to play Della Street to my Perry Mason. And real life isnt like that. Now, if you want to leave, I cant stop you. Youre welcome to my recommendation and I wish you good luck. I just think youre going to be disappointed.

Tracy stood looking at him for a moment. She frowned and went out, closing the door behind her.

Steve Winslow leaned back in his desk chair.

Damn. He really needed that. Now hed have to find a new secretary. Not that that should be a problem-if worst came to worst, he could always call one of the temporary agencies. And it wasnt as if he knew Tracy Garvin well enough to really care if she left.

But still.

Hed started the day in a fairly good mood. After years of scratching out a living, of driving taxi cabs as an out-of-work actor, and then as an out-of-work lawyer, it was real nice to be on an annual retainer. To have enough money coming in to rent an office, hire a secretary, and draw a weekly salary himself. All right, so it wasnt that much. And all right, so all it really meant was he didnt have to drive a cab anymore and had more free time to go to more disappointing auditions. And of course, it was galling to have no real law practice. To see his legal education go for nothing. To be washed up as a lawyer after handling just one case.

Particularly a case he had won. Steve smiled at the irony. Yeah, hed won the case all right, but no one knew it. Not even Tracy Garvin. Oh, they knew his client got off. They just didnt know