CHAPTER 5
One of the senior partners at my firm was married to a woman whose niece was married to a man who had a problem taking things that didn’t belong to him. Apparently, he was dismissed from his last job, because—after several warnings—he continued to steal the lunches of his coworkers from the employee refrigerator. He had no choice but to admit that he was, in fact, stealing the lunches, because on several occasions he had been caught eating the lunches in question. Ridiculous, I know.
Because he was related, through marriage, to a partner in a major law firm, he decided that he should sue the company for unlawful termination. “Yes,” my boss suggested that I argue, “he did steal the lunches, but thievery is the main symptom of the disorder from which he suffers. Because of his disability, he should have been given the opportunity to take advantage of the company’s mental health benefit before he was unduly terminated.” I knew the argument was a stretch, but until I reached a certain status at the firm, many such cases would come my way. I was hoping to settle the case quickly, all the man wanted was enough money to pay for treatment.
Opposing counsel suggested we meet for lunch to discuss a settlement offer; he would bring his client, the owner of the small company, and I would bring my client, the sack lunch bandit. I am getting to why all of this is relevant.
We arranged to meet at a restaurant that was convenient for all parties. I saw my client, a superslim man with black hair and Howdy Doody freckles, walking toward the front entrance of the restaurant just as I was pulling into a parking space. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man. I mean, what could he have been thinking?
I checked my makeup before stepping out of my vehicle. “Leonard!” I called out to him. He looked around confused until he saw me. I hurried across the concrete to where he waited. The pained expression on his face caused me to smile reassuringly at him.
He didn’t say hello; instead, he started a somewhat nervous ramble. “Do you think we can settle this thing today? We really need to settle this thing today. My wife is threatening to divorce me. This is the third job I’ve lost because of my problem since we married eighteen months ago.” I placed my hand on his shoulder for a minute to calm him.
“First, Leonard, I’m advising you not to mention that this is not the first time you’ve had problems in this…uumh, particular area, and whether or not we settle today depends on how much they’re offering.” My words seemed to relax him.
“Well, then, it’ll be settled today.” He sounded confident. We made it to the front of the restaurant and I stopped and faced him directly.
“Leonard,” I warned gently, “your case is weak; we’ll be lucky if they offer you a few thousand dollars to cover the cost of treatment.” His smile held steady.
“If they offer a couple of hundred dollars, that’s fine with me. I just need them to acknowledge that I have a problem and that they shouldn’t have fired me. If they don’t, my wife and family will continue to think that I’m just crazy. I need people to know that I have a legitimate disorder.” He said it with the passion of a crazy man. I considered telling him the truth for just a minute—that he was crazy—but professionalism won out.
“Leonard, two hundred dollars won’t cover this lunch. I assumed you wanted money for treatment.” His look told me that I had assumed wrong.
“It’s not about the money, I have lots of money. My family is very wealthy. Your firm will be compensated fairly. It’s the principle of the matter,” he stressed to me as if I were the crazy one. I thought my boss was doing a favor for a relative; knowing my boss as I did, it made more sense that the relative would be rich. Leonard’s eyes appeared to glaze over as he continued to talk about his “obsession with sack lunches” and how it had started in first grade.
The only way I could hold my tongue was to close my lips firmly over it. For every minute that I had to spend with him, listening to nonsense, I decided that I would figure out a way to charge him for two. You know what they say about a fool and his money…you know, they’re soon parted. In this case, the same would apply to a more-cash-than-he-knew-what-to-do-with, sandwich-stealing, crazy man and his money.
I smiled tightly at my client and motioned for him to walk through the door of the restaurant before me. Suddenly, I didn’t feel comfortable walking in front of him.
All thoughts of our conversation left me when I stepped into the restaurant. I was immediately impressed by the décor. Actually, I was blown away. Vibrant color coated the walls. The furniture was a clever mixture of modern and contemporary. I felt right at home. Six original-looking Charles Eames wood lounge chairs lined the wall of the waiting area. Molded plywood screens separated several tables toward the back of the restaurant, giving the patrons the illusion of privacy. Exotic-looking light fixtures hung from the ceiling.
I recognized the furniture because I had always been interested in design and architecture. I had a few pieces at home—some Heywood-Wakefield, a Barcelona chair, and a Knoll table. Eventually, my plan was to furnish my home almost completely with the beautifully clean pieces of the 1950s and 1960s.
The hostess allowed me to gawk for a minute longer before she had someone show us to our table. If the food was half as good as the décor, I decided that I would only charge the lunatic at my side for services rendered.
Chester Ford stood up to greet us as we approached the table; Marshall Dodge (not his real name), his client and my client’s former employer, continued to sit, and, in fact, refused to make eye contact with us when we sat down.
“Mr. Dodge,” I said, except I used his real name, forcing him to look up at me. “Sorry that we meet under such unfortunate circumstances, but hopefully we can settle this matter quickly.” I gave him my warmest smile and picked up one of the menus on the table.
I really didn’t give a damn whether we settled the matter. It was, after all, a very frivolous lawsuit. All I was interested in at that point was whether the menu was as exciting as the décor. And as my grandfather used to say, I was “red to eat.”
But before I could even peruse the appetizer menu, my lunatic client burst out, “I want five hundred dollars and a letter addressed to my wife telling her that I have a legitimate disorder.”
Mr. Dodge shot back without deferring to counsel. “I’ll give you two hundred fifty,” he stated flatly. “And what significance would a letter from me have for your wife? I’m not a doctor.” I looked over my menu pointedly at Chester as the two men hashed out the terms of the settlement on their own.
Leonard’s voice took on a pleading quality. “I know you’re not a doctor, but my wife really likes you. Tell you what…Give me one hundred fifty dollars and the letter and we’ll be done.”
Mr. Dodge looked at his lawyer, who nodded his head almost imperceptibly.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
My client smiled as if he had won the lottery and reached over to shake the hands of both men. “Great! Lunch is on me.”
I couldn’t help but smile at him; there went his $150 plus, but so long as he was satisfied my job was done.
A very attractive woman approached the table and informed us that she would be our waitress; actually, she said, “I’ll be your server this afternoon.” It was that type of restaurant.
I ordered apricot tea and told her that I thought the restaurant was very beautiful. The men ordered drinks also. When our “server” brought our drinks back to the table, I mentioned the décor again.
“Do you have any idea who did the interior design?” She smiled politely and told me that she had only worked at the restaurant for a short while but offered to ask the owner after she took our orders. I ordered a grilled turkey and cranberry sandwich and sweet potato fries and handed her my menu.
The men at the table talked man talk after they ordered while I continued to look around the restaurant. I crossed my fingers mentally; if the food was any good, I