A Ruined Compote
Igor Flanigan, Esquire, never lost a case. "A remarkable career! Remarkable, just remarkable!" his partner had yelled over the din of Igor's retirement party, which teemed with strippers and other smiling, half-naked young women of ill repute. He slapped him on the back. "Never lost a case! Never had so much as a motion denied! Tell us, old chap! Tell us how you did it!" And beneath his formidable white mustache, Igor smiled. As if to say "nonsense," he waved his hand, sloshing his manhattan out of the glass. His other arm circled the waist of a horsey-faced blonde a third his age. Later that night, he ended up in her bed. He surmised from a tattoo on her backside that her name was Kayla.
Igor Flanigan, Esquire, also did not suffer rejection from women. He didn't suffer much of anything. Loved by his Russian mother, adored by his Irish father, his childhood was eventless and thus charmed. He'd married his high school sweetheart, the spectacularly beautiful and elegant Violet Pescado, but managed to bed scores of women before and after the fact. Violet had a sharp wit and keen green eyes that narrowed when something was amiss, and they'd been getting narrower and narrower every year, so now, in her old age, one could barely see that she had eyes at all. But she could still see through her squint just fine.
When asked the secret to his success at his retirement party, Igor hadn't answered. He hadn't answered because he did not know. Sure, he thought, he was a talented lawyer, but was he so talented that he really would have never lost a case? Not even a little case? Not even mock trials in law school? He doubted it. When he sat alone in his living room, getting used to the tedium of retirement, he thought about it, and he despaired that it could all be attributed to luck. Such thoughts made him absentmindedly go to stroke his mustache, but Violet cajoled him into shaving it off, to symbolize a new period in his life. His upper lip felt naked and he kept accidentally stroking the air by his nose. Retirement was not all it was cracked up to be, so far. So far, it was no good at all.
Violet eyed Igor's moping all day, and it made her feel edgy. "Igor, you're making me feel on edge," she said one day, bopping him on the head with a pot holder. "Go call John Rampling and see if he can spare some work for you." John Rampling was Igor's partner.
"I'm retired!" he roared. "And don't you hit me on the head with that potholder!"
"Retirement, my foot! You are moping and spreading misery around this house! And I'm trying to bake a blueberry pie and your constant sighing is ruining my compote!"
Igor considered this. It was a shame to ruin the innards of a pie. "Fine," he said. "I'll phone him and see if there's anything." He rose his hand to scratch his mustache, but stopped in time, before he appeared foolish.
As luck would have it, there was a case that was right up Igor's alley. Rampling & Flanigan LLP was glad to welcome him back, and one morning a month later, the trial began. "Easy, right?" said Rampling, sitting down next to him at the plaintiff's table. "Glad we've got you back for this." He clapped him on the arm.
"Glad to be back."
"Don't think I've ever seen your upper lip before today. Got bored at home?" he laughed. "Got happy with the razor? Eh?"
"Ha ha. Yeah."
"Well, it suits you just fine!"
Before Igor could respond, Judge Morris P. Reid entered the courtroom and the proceedings began. Immediately, Igor felt off. His arguments were not coherent and Judge Reid looked bored every time Igor spoke. At the lunch break, he called Violet from his cell phone.
"Violet! I think I'm losing! This was a terrible idea! I should be at home, retired!"
"Oh. Oh dear," she said. "Oh dear."
"I don't understand why! Could I have forgotten how to do this in only three weeks? Talk to me! Help me! Violet! Encourage your husband!"
"Oh dear," she said again. "Just do your best."
"I am doing my best! I've always done my best!"
"Oh dear," she said. "Well, see what happens."
"I'm going to go eat my sandwich and then throw it up. Goodbye, Violet. See you tonight."
"Bye, dear."
Violet hung up the receiver and smiled. Her eyes widened just a smidge. She'd suspected it for years, but it sure felt good to know for sure. The buzzer rang and she lifted another pie out of the oven and placed it in the freezer.