Fox - Man at Work

They pinched her toes, slid slightly on her heel, were

Marcy stared at her computer but didnt see the letters

It didnt strike Marcy until the next day, as she

Truman was a fool. No doubt about it. He was

Tonight? Trish stared at her, mouth agape in, of course,

Hello, you have reached the Paglinowski residence. I cant take

They walked down the hall in silence, their footsteps soft

Marcy stabbed her key in the lock, twisted the knob,

Marcy drove thoughtfully along the city streets, sure of her

Friday afternoon Marcy barely left her office. That morning shed

It was after midnight when they practically fell into Trumans

Truman trudged wearily up the sidewalk to his apartment. Hed

Marcy sat at her dining-room table and unfolded the yellow

Truman yanked his wallet out of his back pocket and

Marcy was nervous. Truman was picking her up in fifteen

Despite misgivings about contacting him, Marcy messengered Truman a note

Marcy popped the cork on the bottle of wine that

Marcy was a mess. It was seven A.M. the day

As the judge left the courtroom, Marcy stood and gathered

It was Christmas Eve when Marcy cast a final critical

They pinched her toes, slid slightly on her heel, were perilously high and would make her calves feel like bowling pins by the end of the day, but Marcy had to have them.

They were the perfect shoes for her newest red power suit, which she just happened to have on.

Dressing for success is no joke , she could hear her boss saying. He of the three-hundred-dollar tie and Egyptian cotton shirts. He had actually held a seminar on the topic for all the new junior associates the year shed joined the firm.

Youve got to spend money to make money , her friend Trish had said on too many shopping trips to mention. Easy for her to say. Trish had been born with money.

But over the last couple of years, Marcy had realized they were both right. At least as far as being a Washington, D.C., lawyer in the firm of Downey Finley & SalemDowney Fin, to mostwas concerned.

Gotta play to win, Marcy thought gamely, handing over her gold American Express card to the salesman.

Dont bother putting them back in the box, she said. Im going to wear them.

Theyd have to be her stakeout shoes, she thought with a private grimace. Shed forgotten her sneakers and she had a very important meeting right after luncha meeting to be attended by several senior partners, making the power suit and perfect shoes imperative.

So shed be wearing the new shoes to her lunch hour stakeout at the Planners Building & Design construction siteor rather, at the restaurant across the streetto surreptitiously investigate the details of a case she was working on. It was her first solo case, a personal-injury lawsuit by a former subcontractor against Planners Building & Design.

Not that she was working on it strictly alone. Her boss, the renowned Win Downey of Downey Fin, was overseeing everything she did and supervising the case. But for the most part, it was hers to conquer.

She held up one foot as she leaned against the counter, listening to her credit card come through approved on the machine, and studied her latest purchase. Never in her wildest childhood dreams would she have imagined spending three hundred and eighty-two dollars on a pair of shoes.

Dressing for success is no joke , she thought again. Damn right it wasnt.

She signed the credit slip and took up the bag containing the box with her old shoes in it.

You enjoy those now, the salesman said. His thick graying eyebrows were raised over a face that smiled with a million laugh lines. She hoped he was working on commission.

I will. Thank you very much. She gave him a bright smile and strode from the store in her brand-new, stiletto-heeled stakeout shoes.

Hey! Hey you! Cut it out! Marcy glared across D Street at the unkempt, beer-bellied man leveling another kick at a puppy. The whimpering creature cowered against the chain-link fence. Mud coated the dog, the mans steel-toed work boots, the gravel parking lot of the construction site, and the street across which she marched with all the rage a five-foot-four-inch woman could project. Im talking to you, lowlife.

She crossed the muddy gravel impervious to what it was doing to the hem of her camelhair coat and the brand-new stakeout shoes.

Hey, buddy. She grabbed the man by one arm to get his attention. Im talking to you . She was too angry to feel fear for this bully, this grubby, stupid excuse for a person, though some part of her warned that fear might be the healthiest emotion.

The manquite large, now that she was close, and smelling strongly of sweat and smoketurned to glare at her with flat, red-rimmed, milk-chocolate eyes. What the f

I said, cut it out, Marcy said through gritted teeth. She couldnt stand men like this. Men with the attitude that anything smaller and weaker than they were deserved whatever they felt like dishing out. Are you aware that what youre doing is called animal cruelty and is punishable by a twenty-five-hundred-dollar fine and up to two years in prison?

Marcy had no idea if this was correctthe type of law she practiced was corporate, insurance, personal injury, not criminal cases involving ill-bred miscreantsbut he didnt know that.

He laughed once. You expect me to believe youre a cop? He spat a wad of something dark to the ground by her feet. She noticed a brown fleck on the toe of her shoe. If they hadnt been so expensive shed have thought about throwing them away when she got home.

Yeah, or something. She bent down to grasp the little dogs collar, but the band was so tight she could barely get her fingers inside it.

The puppy cowered against the fence, looking at her with brown, fear-filled eyes, but making no move to bite or fight back. Its black ears lay tight against its head and the black, white-tipped tail curled around its scrawny haunches with the tender impotence of a childs security blanket.

Its okay, she crooned, pulling the puppy gently toward her by the scruff.

But Rambo had other plans for her. She felt his burly grip on her upper arm as she was yanked upright. He turned her to face him, so close she had to hold her breath against the foul smell of his.

Thats my goddamn dog, bitch, and if you dont take your goddamn hands off it Im gonna break your goddamn neck into a buncha goddamn tiny pieces.

She leveled a cool glare at him, revealing none of the fright that was beginning to blossom in her breast, and said the first thing that popped into her head. Thats very good. Excellent vocabulary. Now can you make goddamn into a verb?

Honest to God, for a second she thought he was going to hit her. His grip tightened so that she could almost picture the bruises he would leave and his opposite shoulder drew back as if to wind up, when suddenly he spun around so quickly she was dragged sideways by his hold before stumbling out of his grasp.

You graduating from dogs to women now, Chuck? a new male voice asked. This one was deeper, calmer, and free of that construction-worker accent they all seemed to put on with their hardhats.

So she was understandably confused when she regained her balance and straightened to see a tall, broad construction worker with dark brown hair that was badly in need of a cut and torn jeans that were badly in need of a needle, hauling her nemesis nearly off his feet by the collar of his down vest.