Another Monday Morning
You bat your eyelashes a little and look down with that little 'tormented victim' look you've been practicing these past few weeks. You've been watching court TV, and have kept notes on all the battered wives you've seen.
Hook, line, and sinker.
You're awarded an absolutely ridiculous sum of money - it seems the boss had been engaged in some dubiously legal side pursuits, and pretty much everything he owned has gone to you. And that's a good amount of money. You're not only set for life, but your picture is being snapped about once every two minutes by some newspaper or another, and you've had more camera in your face today than you've had coffee. And you drink a lot of coffee. Even more, the hot defending lawyer slipped you their phone number and an open invitation for "coffee. Your scumbag of a boss is led away in prison orange, and seeing his bald head pushed through the door by cops is a beautiful sight. It's almost a dream - your life got a thousand percent better in such a short time.
As you're leaving the courthouse, though, you spot a familiar figure perched by the bus stop. You almost have to laugh - it's your boss' wife. She's an attractive woman, if older - probably in her mid-forties right now - with red hair, great legs, and that sophisticated-suffering look you've always found so hot. Her kids don't appear to be around - she probably didn't want them to see daddy dragged away in chains. You think to yourself you'd offer her a ride, but maybe driving her home in her old car would be bad form. Not like she has a home now, of course.
As you pass her, you hear snippets of her conversation. Her voice is high, tinted with a bit of an English accent, as if it had faded through years of living in America. "Are you sure...?" she says, "Well... all right, I understand. If you can, though, please, please tell me. If not for my sake, for your nieces'." She hangs up the phone, holding it against the receiver like it would leap out and bite her. Sighing almost volcanically, she picks up her disposition, places another of her limited quarters into the phone, and continues calling around for a place to stay.
You feel something sputter inside you, a warm sad feeling, though you aren't sure what it is.
Hook, line, and sinker.
You're awarded an absolutely ridiculous sum of money - it seems the boss had been engaged in some dubiously legal side pursuits, and pretty much everything he owned has gone to you. And that's a good amount of money. You're not only set for life, but your picture is being snapped about once every two minutes by some newspaper or another, and you've had more camera in your face today than you've had coffee. And you drink a lot of coffee. Even more, the hot defending lawyer slipped you their phone number and an open invitation for "coffee. Your scumbag of a boss is led away in prison orange, and seeing his bald head pushed through the door by cops is a beautiful sight. It's almost a dream - your life got a thousand percent better in such a short time.
As you're leaving the courthouse, though, you spot a familiar figure perched by the bus stop. You almost have to laugh - it's your boss' wife. She's an attractive woman, if older - probably in her mid-forties right now - with red hair, great legs, and that sophisticated-suffering look you've always found so hot. Her kids don't appear to be around - she probably didn't want them to see daddy dragged away in chains. You think to yourself you'd offer her a ride, but maybe driving her home in her old car would be bad form. Not like she has a home now, of course.
As you pass her, you hear snippets of her conversation. Her voice is high, tinted with a bit of an English accent, as if it had faded through years of living in America. "Are you sure...?" she says, "Well... all right, I understand. If you can, though, please, please tell me. If not for my sake, for your nieces'." She hangs up the phone, holding it against the receiver like it would leap out and bite her. Sighing almost volcanically, she picks up her disposition, places another of her limited quarters into the phone, and continues calling around for a place to stay.
You feel something sputter inside you, a warm sad feeling, though you aren't sure what it is.